Not Yours
by LaniLaniDuck
Summary: Santana doesn't want to own up to her mistakes. But she also doesn't want to lose Brittany forever. It's all very complicated. Brittana, with some Klaine on the side.
1. The Coffee

**AN: **Hi guys! This is my first try at Brittana, and I know that there's a lot of Klaine chilling in this story. Sorry. It could just be an angsty little snippet of a scene, or I could make it into a chaptered story, which I'd kinda like to do. I'm not sure yet.

Any crit, any review, anything at all is so appreciated, as always. You all are amazing. Thanks even for reading this far. :)

**Disclaimer: **_I'm not R, I, or B. I don't own a thing, characters or plot or Lima Bean. And I'm not making any money off this. _

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"So- why aren't you with Brittany yet?" Kurt asked her one day, sitting at the Lima Bean with his boyfriend and her 'boyfriend', flashing her a smile that was somehow sweet, worried, and reprimanding all at the same time.

And boy, had that stopped her in her tracks.

Until he'd said that, they'd been harmlessly chatting about Nationals- the competition, the trip to New York that was agonizingly soon, their weaknesses, and their advantages. But Kurt had noticed the little flinch she couldn't hide, and how she froze after the flinch, the way she stopped breathing the second someone mentioned her Brittany.

_Not yours._ She had to remind herself, as she did far too often these days. It had been hard enough when Britt was with Wheely McFour-Eyes, but now that those two were over, she just- she couldn't accept it.

Her familiar defensive layer kicked in as she answered the question with another question. "What makes you think I'm gonna be with Brittany?"

"Darling, we all see how you look at her." Blaine joined in, reaching out to grasp her hand, his eyes warm and comforting. His head was tilted to the side and his eyebrows gigantic eyebrows were raised and the slight smile on his face clearly said _Come on, Santana. Just own up. You're not fooling anyone._

Dave was looking at her like she was a puzzle, and a piece had just dropped into place. A piece that he hadn't expected. "Wait, Brittany?" He asked. He looked over his shoulders, checking to make sure no one from their school was in earshot before he lowered his voice and continued. "Cheerios Brittany?"

"Yeah, what other Brittany is there?" Santana snapped with a spectacular roll of her eyes. Mentioning the Cheerios was low. It brought to mind the image of Britt in that short skirt, her legs so long and soft, her body so perfect. She hadn't appreciated that when she had the chance.

"There's like four at this school."

"Well how was I supposed to know that, ladyface?"

"It's Porcelain now." Kurt replied with a very refined sip of his coffee.

"So you and Brittany didn't just make out to get guys hot?" Dave asked, catching up.

"Yeah no shit." There was no use trying to pretend otherwise with Kurt and Blaine in front of her. (And what should they call these two, she wondered. She and Dave were clearly Save. But Klaine? Or Blurt? That was a tricky one.) Dave didn't really talk about boys with her. And she didn't talk about girls. In fact, they didn't really do a lot of talking. They just found bullies and kicked their asses together.

Kicked their asses with words, of course.

_Slash them with your vicious, vicious words._

Yeah, maybe Britt was her inspiration, the reason she started the Bully Whips. And Kurt and Blaine were just too damn perceptive not to see what was going on in her head. _How did it take Kurt this long to get on this boy? _

"You might as well just start talking about it." Kurt told her, licking the whipped cream off his straw absentmindedly.

"Maybe we could give you a little advice." Blaine suggested.

"After all, I happen to be an expert on seducing best friends." Kurt added.

"Oh are you now?" Blaine asked with a smirk. "I was under the impression that your bird died, not that you seduced me. So unless you killed Pav for the cause..."

Kurt gasped.

"That's what I thought."

The rest of the table smiled, amused by the banter. But Santana sat there, feeling weighted.

"But Britt isn't my best friend anymore. We don't really talk."

"And why is that?" Dave asked. It wasn't a question he didn't know the answer to, but it was a question she'd been trying to ignore for a while now. One she probably needed to face. She closed her eyes. Maybe it would go away if she pretended it wasn't there.

"Santana." Kurt said, interrupting her evasive maneuvers.

"I said I would go to prom with her, alright?" She snapped. "She was going to ask me out on her talk show on youtube. And I was going to say yes," The regret filled her, exactly the thing she'd been trying to avoid. It was this ache, but it also stabbed into her chest. Breathing was hard. She made this for herself. "But I was scared," She admitted. "I've been so scared. I stood her up and I went to prom with Dave."

And there it was. The latest reason in a long line of reasons that her life was so different from how she wanted it to be.

"You need to apologize to her." Blaine said softly, but firmly.

"I can't do that." She responded. Wow, even to the outside world she sounded broken.

"Why not?" Kurt asked.

"Because I can't! Because she'd never- she shouldn't have to-" Santana stumbled over the words, not knowing what she was saying. "-because I don't deserve to be forgiven. Again."

"Of course you do." Dave said quietly. And Kurt and Blaine just nodded seriously.

"It's not that easy. I just- I can't."

"If Kurt can forgive me for what I did to him-" Dave's voice choked up a little, and Santana was struck by what a different person he'd become, what he'd let out, what he'd shed. "-then Brittany can forgive you for what you did to her."

"And even if she doesn't-" Blaine started, and her insides felt like they were submerged in ice water. "-it isn't about you, in the end. It's about doing what's right by her."

"If I never say anything to her she'll never reject me."

"But you'll never have her either." Kurt pointed out.

God, that thought hurt.


	2. The Prom

**AN: **The chapters to this are, I warn you, probably going to be pretty far apart. Hopefully not as far apart as these first two have been, but I don't really know where I'm going with this, and my summer is damn this busy. It'll be done before season 3 starts though, I promise. Because I fail at finishing stuff once canon has squished them.

Thanks for your support and asking me to continue this- I seem to be having issues writing without all my Klainers bugging me. :)

**Disclaimer: **_Can I just let my disclaimer for the last chapter cover the entire story? I'll let you know if I magically turn into RIB or FOX or anyone even slightly related to Glee. For now, I'm still just a silly fangirl._

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Santana wasn't dumb. She knew what she wanted, knew what she needed to do to get it. But she was crippled with fear, stuck in the patterns she'd held for so long. Link pinkies, smile, and pretend nothing else exists. No feelings, no outside world, just her best friend's assurance that they were them, and always would be.

Brittany seemed content to leave it at that, and Santana couldn't bring herself to try for anything bigger. So she followed suit. She watched Brittany, making sure the girl was doing okay after her break-up. And she was. She was happy, at ease with herself.

Brittany was the first one to pick out her dress. She walked into the store and walked up to a rack, looked at two dresses, and then pulled out the one she knew was hers. She didn't even try it on. She just bought it. She put it on later, for Kurt's approval, which he gave immediately. And she laughed in that way she did only when really pleased, and she flounced over to the couch, and with a "Hey, San!" she flopped gracefully (Only Brittany could put those two words together, Santana noted) into her seat.

"You look- awesome." Santana told her, and the smile that played across her lips was a little too familiar, a little too intimate for the place they were in. Their eyes locked, and Brittany's twinkled, and Kurt turned aside, engaging the other girls in some sort of fashion talk or something. Santana wasn't paying attention.

"I know, right?" Brittany replied after a second, adjusting the tiny top hat on her head. "But I bet you'll look even better. Go get on your dress."

So she did. The satin flowed over her skin, slipping against her curves like the dress was made especially for her. It was met with instant approval, from everyone- but the only thing she really noticed was the way Brittany was looking at her. The fondness, and the pride, and this assuredness that it would all be okay.

This, in one look.

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"And that's the amazing thing about Brittany," Santana ranted, a few days before prom, sitting yet again in The Lima Bean with Dave, Kurt, and Blaine, like some GSA minus the S. "People think she's stupid. People call her things, joke about her, make fun of her behind her back. They think she's hot but they don't think she has the smarts. But if they could see just a _fraction _of what goes on in her head... She's not ashamed of herself. She never has been. Peer pressure doesn't even exist with her- she just does what she wants. I mean, what kind of person _really _doesn't care about what other people think? What kind of person goes to their own Junior Prom all on their own, just because she loves to dance?"

"And why does that upset you?" Kurt asked.

Santana snorted. "Stop being a therapist. It doesn't upset me, it just- she's _perfect_."

The second the words were out, her heart sank a little. She'd never said that before. Thought it, maybe. Thought it since she was ten years old. They were just words, she tried to convince herself. But they felt like more. They felt like a confession of all the things she felt. Two little angry words and it was out there for the world to see.

Dave looked at her. Didn't say anything for the moment, just looked at her. His eyes were thoughtful in a way she wouldn't have believed possible a few months ago. But he was actually really observant, sensitive. He'd started to get her. It was weird.

"Then why are you going to prom with me?" He asked. There wasn't any hurt in his voice, because really, it didn't matter to him if he had a date or not. It was only Junior Prom. If he didn't win Prom King, so what? It wasn't like Santana was going to rat him out, not for real. Yeah, she said she would. But her bark was a lot worse than her bite.

Unless she really didn't like you.

"Just because she's perfect doesn't mean I am," Santana snapped. "But for a night? I'd like to pretend."

"Talk to her." Kurt said, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"That isn't the point at all." She responded. Walls. She put up so many walls. Walls were good. If she didn't have them, she'd be a blibbering mess right now.

"You should still do it," Blaine said, and he looked at her. There was a bit of concern on his face, and he reached out to grab her hand. He squeezed it encouragingly, then let go. "We'll talk to you later- I've got to get Kurt home."

"Finn's with Quinn and my parents won't be home for a few more hours." Kurt said with a wink, and he held Blaine's hand as they walked out of the coffee shop.

Out of habit, Santana watched them leave. She'd been checking out that Dalton boy's ass since the first time she'd seen him, but at some point she'd just started watching the way Kurt and Blaine's bodies always leaned toward each other, angled toward each other- were aware of each other on some sort of subconscious level. Before Artie, before everything had gotten all messed up, it had been that way between her and Brittany.

She just wanted that back.

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Being in love with your best friend really fucking sucked.

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And then it was prom night. Most of it felt like a blur. She danced with Karofsky, put on a good face for her prospective voters, and watched the drama Glee Club was getting itself into with amusement. Yeah, Finn and Jessie were fighting over Rachel. What else was new?

It was time to announce Prom Queen and King far too soon, and her nerves were buzzing as she stood in front of the whole school, waiting to hear her name.

But she never did.

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"What do I do now?" She asked, feeling so lost, her tears drying on her face. All she wanted was for Brittany to tell her to come over to her, let the girl wrap her arms around her, fall to the floor and let someone else hold her together for a little while. But Brittany told her to go, and be there for Kurt, and be the good person Britt knew she was.

Because Brittany was, as always, a better person than Santana.

If a person as good as Brittany had so much confidence in a person like her- well then maybe she was doing okay, and she could do okay. Brittany voted for her for Prom Queen. And that was enough to make her take a tissue, and fix her face, and walk back onto that dance floor with all her walls standing strong.

As Dancing Queen began, nobody at the dance gave her a second look. They were all too busy dancing, or watching Kurt and Blaine dance. So she made the most of it, feeling alive for the first time in a while as she looked at her girl, in front of the band, rocking out and obviously loving every second.

The song ended far too soon, and she realized that she was breathing strong, her blood rushing through her veins, her body tingling just a little. Britt walked straight towards her, a coy smile on her lips.

"That was fantastic." Santana told her, and the grin that broke across Brittany's face- damn, she'd do anything to keep that grin where it was.

"I haven't danced with you yet." Brittany replied simply, and held out her hand.

So she took it.

There was an awkward moment where hands didn't know where to go, and arms collided in midair, but soon they settled comfortably into each other, their bodies remembering how they fit better than their brains did. They used to dance together a lot- from Cheerio's practice and Glee Club practice, to all the times when they were little where they would dress up like ballerinas and dance around Britt's house together, to other, less literal forms of dancing. Their bodies knew each other. Santana had pressed her hand against the small of Brittany's back before, many times. Her shoulders had felt the gentle pressure of Brittany's fingertips. Their hips had brushed together, she'd felt these sparks before.

But that didn't make the dance any less intense.

She didn't know the song, and she was surrounded by a bunch of classmates who were probably pegging her as dyke of the year, and she still hadn't actually fixed anything with Brittany- but it was easy to pretend none of that mattered, as she let her best friend spin her around the dance floor, tiny rainbows bouncing off the disco ball and into their skin.


	3. The Girl

**AN: **I don't think I actually have much to say this time. I hope you enjoy it. If you haven't listened to the full version of My Cup, go do it. It's fucking ridiculous. Most of this was written on a train. I don't think I'll get another post up until after LeakyCon. I love you all, as you know.

**Disclaimer: **_I'm not anyone. I don't own anything. I don't make money off of anything. Woo. Party._

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New York was freaking gorgeous. But Santana was having trouble appreciating anything other than Brittany.

At least, that was how the trip started out.

They'd all flown as a group, sitting in groups of three, chatting and singing and being obnoxious. Most of the people on the airplane looked annoyed, and on more than one occasion a flight attendant had to go over and ask them to be quieter, because there were complaints. But they just thought it was funny.

Their seats had been alphabetical by last name and Santana sat on the aisle, glad to have Britt sitting next to her but feeling unreasonably jealous every time the blonde and Puckerman talked to each other. When she felt that angry monster rear up, she reached out, linking pinkies and possessively running her thumb over the side of Brittany's hand. The way Brittany squeezed her hand and sent her a warm smile lightened her mood much more than she expected.

They landed, they got off the plane, and Santana lamented the change in her relationship with Brittany, knowing that if things were the way they were a few months ago, she would've just joined the Mile High Club.

Everything was a blur. Everything. New York was- well, it was _fast. _It was bright. It was like every song about it. She tried to keep her eyes at their normal width, tried to keep her cool- but from the moment they hailed their cabs at the airport, she was hooked. This was a real place, not the middle-of-nowhere shit she came from.

She didn't want to leave.

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Damn, they were staying in a nice hotel. Mr. Schue signed in at the desk, and everyone in the club scattered. Normally, Santana would be off with Puck, using her fake id to score a Manhattan. Or with Brittany, scoping out the prospects. It was a brand new city, full of open minded, sexual people.

But things had changed. And Puck had someone else for that, so she followed Brittany like a lost puppy, not knowing what else to do. She ended up at the bar in the middle of the lobby, standing between Britt and Quinn, not really caring. They didn't talk much as they stood there, honestly. Santana was busy in her thoughts, and Quinn kept getting distracted by Rachel and Finn talking, so it was mostly just Brittany, talking about the random things that went on in her head.

"...so Mr. Schue said that my job is to make sure that the fairies are well fed while we're here." Brittany said. Santana had no idea what she was talking about.

"Did he?" She asked, genuinely interested.

"Well, I asked him if it could be my job. And he sighed, and said 'Sure, Brittany.'"

"Well, you're the girl for the job."

"That's exactly what I told him!" Brittany beamed. "You understand, Santana."

And she leaned over and kissed Santana on the cheek.

Time stopped for a second.

The thing was, they hadn't kissed since before Prom. Their last kiss, actually, had been a goodbye kiss. Brittany had always insisted that it was more fun with feelings- but with feelings, it sucked. With feelings, Santana knew she didn't actually have the girl. Knew that she wasn't brave enough, strong enough, to have the girl. So she'd kissed Britt, and promised herself she wouldn't do it again until she deserved it all. Somehow, Brittany had understood without Santana having to say a word. Somehow, they'd managed to let it change. Without a word.

But damn, she'd missed those lips. Just the feel of them pressed gently against her cheek reminded her of the way they felt in other places, and more importantly, of everything she'd lost recently. She couldn't tell if she wanted to laugh and jump around or to just cry. She didn't know if she should be devastated or hopeful.

Quinn laughed quietly at the look on Santana's face. She was about to retaliate, probably by stomping on her feet, when Schue called them all over- it was time they went up to their rooms. It was time to start writing some songs. It was time, Santana decided over an hour later, to write increasingly horrible songs just as an excuse to be funny.

As Rachel finished the long last note in her latest ballad- this one dedicated to her _striped coat, _of all things- Brittany and a few people Santana didn't notice ran off into the bathroom, clearly with an idea. Puck was suggesting lyrics to a song he had entitled "I love me some pussy... cats" when they called him in with them, asking him to take his guitar.

The chords to whatever song was being written in the bathroom seemed to be pretty simple, because only a couple of minutes later, they were all walking out and standing in front of the group.

"May we have your attention!" Puck called, and they went silent.

"The lyrics are... pretty much all Brittany." Artie said, smiling.

This was going to be good.

Brittany smiled shyly at Santana, and then turned to face the opposite wall. The music started. Brittany moved to the beat, her hips in perfect time, her silky hair swishing back and forth. Santana stared shamelessly.

But the song... god, that song. Brittany kept her back turned for the whole first verse, which turned out to be a good thing- Santana didn't think she would've been able to resist jumping on Britt right there, in front of everyone, if she'd been able to look into the girl's eyes as the song started. Brittany would know _exactly _what she was doing to her.

_I got you in the palm of my hand_

_Want to put something hot in you_

_So hot that you can't stand_

Artie was singing something. Santana didn't hear it.

_Gonna take you to my lips_

_Empty out every last drop_

_So thirsty for what's in you, baby_

_That I can't stop..._

What in the world were they thinking? This was... this could never work for Nationals. Never. It was so- sex. It was entirely sex. These were the kind of things Brittany and and Santana said to each other in private, when she wanted it rough and fast and dirty, when Brittany was needy and wanting... and now she was singing these words, her voice light and bright and innocent.

What. Even.

Brittany turned around, her eyes shining.

_In the middle of the night_

_I'm in the bed alone_

_Don't care if you're glass, paper, styrofoam_

Oh.

Well then.

_When I need some water baby, coffee or gin_

Was this song about... it couldn't be. Santana got it a minute before the rest of them did, and she couldn't help but giggle, amazed at this ridiculous girl in front of her.

_You're the only thing I wanna put them in_

_You're my cup, my cup_

_Saying what's up to my cup, my cup_

She was right. The looks on everyone's faces- it was classic. And Brittany looked so proud of herself, so amused, she was having so much fun.

_Much more of a friend than a silly pup _

_My cup_

_You know what it is_

_Saying 'what's up' to my cup_

This was brilliant. This was hilarious. And she looked at that brilliant, hilarious girl in front of her... and she saw the way she looked at Artie. Saw that they were friendly, sharing glances, writing songs together.

_That guy would do anything for her. _She thought, her stomach sinking. _And she can tell._ But what had Santana ever done for Brittany? She'd never given herself up for her, never risked herself for her, never given a thing.

They were leaving the hotel room. She didn't care. She didn't give a fuck about this now, soaked in her own self criticism, her sudden understanding of why these things she angsted about where, more than she'd ever let herself know before, her fault. She faked a smile, because the group was counting on morale to be up to stand a chance at Nationals, and because she was used to pretending.

And then, not for the first time since she'd arrived in the city, she looked at the people living here, with passions and loves and struggles that maybe she could relate to- and she saw more than just what she wanted to have someday. She saw what she _could _have. Today.

It wasn't hard to slip off. They were in Central Park, because if one state knew how to raise kids to be tourists, it was Ohio. Inspiration, it seemed, was everywhere for everyone else. But she was sitting on a bench. Out of habit, she smiled her charming smile at every man and woman who passed her way. And someone smiled back. A_ dyke _smiled back. An honest-to-goodness lesbian, from the looks of it. Her hair was short- a faux hawk. She was wearing patched black jeans cut off just below the knee, an altered t-shirt bearing the logo of some band Santana had never heard of, gigantic horn-rimmed glasses, and a bike chain kept the wallet in her back pocket properly attached to a belt-loop. She had crazy biceps, smirking lips, and dancing eyes.

Santana was hooked.

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It was surprisingly easy. All of it. Her wide-eyed classmates were busy looking up at the skyscrapers, busy flirting and kissing, busy singing. She waited until Brittany was talking to Artie. And she ran.

Okay, she didn't run. Santana Lopez wasn't often one to run. But she was one to walk quickly, purposefully, and sexily towards the hot girl in front of her. Like a supermodel.

She'd been doing a lot of research on the internet, ever since she started thinking the word "lesbian" to herself. And this girl was what you would call a baby butch. She was a bit shorter than Santana in her heels. She was muscled- her calves looked strong, probably from biking, and Santana was surprised to discover that she wasn't bothered by the light blonde leg hair she spied. It worked. The girl's t-shirt was riding up, and her narrow hips were sticking out over her jeans. Santana desperately wanted to see her front again.

But how exactly was she going to do this? She was in entirely new territory with this. Her appearance didn't exactly scream lesbian. She'd been passing for straight before she even knew she wasn't. What if she wasn't this girl's type? _She smiled back at you. _She reminded herself. _You're good at this sort of thing. Just calm down. _

The few relaxing breaths she took were proven useless when the girl stopped at an ice cream cart in the middle of the park, and Santana's pulse started racing so quick she could practically see it.

_You can work with this. _She told herself. _Just get some fucking ice cream. _

Right. She could do this. She walked toward the cart, as though it had been where she meant to go the entire time. She smoothed her dress, smiled sidelong at the girl ordering next to her, and waited her turn. _Deep breath, Santana. _She took one. She willed herself to speak. She opened her mouth.

"I'm Jaz." Said the girl- said Jaz.

"I- oh. I'm... I'm Santana."

Some part of her brain kicked herself. Hard. That was not even remotely smooth.

But Jaz didn't seem put off. She just flashed Santana a wide grin, and took her ice cream. Mint Chocolate Chip. Santana noted the choice, and asked for a Chocolate Fudge. They would go well together. "It's lovely to meet you, Santana." Jaz said. Her voice was just a little lower than normal pitch. It made Santana shiver in the warm air.

"Likewise." Santana said, making her eyes sultry and licking her lips. She had a feeling she was doing this seduction thing all wrong. Jaz was still just grinning at her. But she had her attention, so she couldn't be doing _too bad. _

"There isn't any chance you've been following me for the past three blocks, is there?" Jaz asked, and then laughed a little at the horrified look on Santana's face.

"No! I- I mean- I- well..." She chanced a sheepish smile, taking her ice cream from the man at the cart. "Maybe?"

Jaz laughed again, deep and throaty. "You've never stalked someone before, have you?" She asked, and started walking. Santana could only hope that was an invitation to walk with her, and sped up her pace a little to fall into place next to the girl.

"Only once," Santana admitted. "And I was twelve, so I don't think that actually counts."

"It only counts if you followed them home and knew which window was to their bedroom." Jaz said, as if this was a commonly known rule.

"Well then, I think I'm innocent." Santana said.

Jaz raised her eyebrows, a smirk playing at her lips. "Oh, I doubt that."

And Santana did something she rarely did- she blushed.

Their eyes met, and something passed between them that was stronger than all the flirting and innuendo they could've possibly fit into one conversation. There it was. That definite, cliché, wonderful spark. God, it had been a long time since she'd felt that. At some point they'd stopped walking, but Santana couldn't remember that. She couldn't really feel anything from the knees down.

"Oh." She said, breathy and so quiet she wasn't sure she'd actually said it a second later.

Jaz's head was slightly tilted, her lips parted, and her eyes were boring into Santana's fiercely. Oh yes, she was feeling tingly. Really tingly.

"San! There you are!" Rang out a sweet, familiar voice. One that Santana had never disliked hearing before.

But now? She jumped and her face fell, and her previously fluttering stomach suddenly felt as though it had been filled with lead. Guilty, guilty lead.

"Oh! Hey, Britt." She said, and her voice sounded unnaturally cheerful. Brittany gave her a quizzical look, and then noticed the girl standing next to Santana.

"I'm Jaz." Said Jaz, holding out her hand. Brittany took it, and Santana was suddenly jealous of both hands at once.

"Brittany," Said Brittany. "I'm Santana's friend. Who are you?"

"Hopefully, I'm Santana's friend too." Jaz said with a smile.

Was this what swooning felt like?

"San, Rachel flipping up."

"Flipping out, honey. Flipping out." Santana corrected.

"Right. Flipping out. She says Mr. Schue is going to lose us or something."

"Lose _it."_

"That. So come back with me." And she held out a pinky, waiting patiently for Santana to take it.

"Can you give a second?" Santana asked, trying to sound nice but not make Jaz think there was anything between herself and Britt. The blonde simply nodded and walked off a few feet, quite content to watch a family of ducksmaking their way across the park.

"Your friend?" Jaz asked. Did a bemused smile _ever _leave her face? "Just a friend?"

"Yeah, she's just... sorta like that," Santana said. She was used to the fact that Brittany was impossible to explain. "She has a boyfriend." She lied.

"Oh, good," Breathed Jaz. "Because I was going to ask if you wanted to meet up before you head back to wherever you came from."

The fluttering was back.

"Yeah, I- yeah," She regained a little composure. Maybe Jaz wouldn't notice that she was melting. "Here, put in your number." And she passed over her phone.

Jaz swiftly typed in her number, and added herself as a contact. She handed back the phone. "How long are you in town?"

"How do you know I'm visiting?" Santana asked, and she managed to bring back her sultry eyes, glancing down at her phone and quickly texing Jaz with a simple _;)_. Jaz leaned in real close, her mouth almost touching Santana's ear, her breath warm and tantalizing at her skin.

"Because you are far too exciting. I would've noticed you, even if we'd never seen each other before."

Santana couldn't even do anything after that. She stood there, dumbstruck, and watched a very pleased-looking Jaz walk away, out of the park.

"Can we go now?" Brittany asked. "I think the ducks are trying to lead us back to Rachel."

"Just a second," Santana requested. "I think my legs turned to jelly."

Brittany looked put out. "Did that girl do that to you?" She asked. "_Un-jellify_!"

Santana just laughed fondly, and took the pinky Brittany offered, and looked over her shoulder, trying to get one last look at Jaz.

This wasn't confusing at all.


	4. The Date

**AN: **Yeah, I know it's been like three months since I updated. Sorry. I'm going to try to get this finished before NaNoWriMo starts, but if I don't you're gonna have to wait until December for more. :/ At least this chapter is the longest yet!

**Disclaimer: **_Yadda yadda this isn't mine and I just like to play with the characters something about FOX and RIB owning everything._

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**Jazz:**

_Any chance I'll get to see you tonight? :)_

Santana looked up from her phone and sighed. They were back at the hotel now, the girls in their room, the boys in theirs. Rachel was half-heartedly trying to convince everyone to work, the garishly bright rhyming dictionary Mr. Schue had given her being used to gesture emphatically. Unless the girl got distracted in the next few hours, there was no way she was getting out.

**Santana:**

_It depends. What were you thinking of?_

**Jaz:**

_Thought I might show you a good old-fashioned New York night on the town._

A coy smile was drawn to her lips.

**Santana:**

_Is that all you're planning on showing me?_

**Jazz:**

_Well, I was kinda hoping you'd show me yours._

The giggle she let out was enough to get the attention of the girls in the room, and before she could type out her answer, Britt was reaching for her phone.

"Who're you talking to, San?" Brittany asked, looking surprised when Santana pulled her phone out of reach.

"Nobody." Was her instinctive, tense, and stupidresponse.

"Oh, now we have to know." Said Kurt, who had clearly been listening in. She shot him a _It's none of your business _look and he shot a _I know you're up to something _look right back.

"It's really not important," she said, trying to brush it off. "Who wants to write a song?"

"I do!" Rachel lit up at the idea of getting something done.

"Fantastic!" Santana replied, managing to keep most of the sarcasm out of her voice. "So I was thinking, what if we went a little crazy? I've thought up a couple of rhymes with the word 'orange'…"

Rachel gave her a strange look, and immediately paged through her book to prove that no, nothing rhymed with orange. Santana grinned like a cat. It was worth a little work to distract everyone from her-

"Well, if you won't tell us…" Brittany's voice startled her, but not as much as the sudden movement toward her, the blonde hair flying past, the nimble fingers darting at her phone.

"Britt!" Santana yelled, as the phone flew out of her hand and across the room, skittering under one of the armchairs.

"…we'll just have to take it from you!" Brittany finished, and she dove towards the chair. Thinking on her feet as only Santana could, she grabbed a pillow off the bed and hit Brittany with it, knocking her over sideways.

All hell broke loose.

Really, she should've known it would happen. Brittany screamed in delight, and immediately jumped onto the bed closest to her, a pillow somehow already gripped tightly in her hands. Tina grinned, reaching for her own weapon. Rachel sat there looking disapproving, Quinn hesitated a moment, but gave in almost immediately, Lauren gave a scary, predatory look at the girls before joining the fray, and Kurt- well, by the time she glanced at Kurt, he'd already carefully removed and folded his jacket. By the time he'd finished unlacing his boots, Brittany had already given her a good smack over the head, making her see stars.

"Oh, it is on." She growled, and she went tearing off after Britt, who grinned like she'd won the lottery, and leapt from one bed to the other.

Feathers were flying everywhere, girls were screaming, and in the chaos, Santana seemed to be the only one who noticed Rachel sneaking out of the room, dressed uncharacteristically well. She looked around. No, the rest of the girls were too busy making an absolute mess of their hotel room to pay attention to Berry's disappearance. Huh.

Placing herself in a strategic place on the bed, it was only a second before Tina hit her hard with a pillow, and she purposefully flew straight off and onto the floor- right next to the armchair her phone had slid under. It wasn't hard to grab it, then wait for the right moment.

All of the girls ganged up on Kurt, piling on top of him on the bed and ticking him. As he gave a particularly loud shriek, Santana closed the door behind her. Her phone buzzed. Crap. Three unread messages.

**Jazz:**

_What, I made you speechless with my sexy innuendo?_

**Jazz:**

_Or, you know, we could just get a couple drinks. No pressure. Sorry._

**Jazz:**

_Santana?_

**Santana:**

_Sorry, Jazz. Snooping friends turned into a pillowfight. I just got away._

**Jazz:**

_Sounds nice. Why wasn't I invited?_

**Santana:**

_I figured we'd have time to do all kinds of stuff in bed tonight. Though I don't know how high on our list pillowfighting will be._

**Jazz:**

_That depends on what you call pillowfighting. ;)_

Stepping out into the brisk, bright New York air, she read Jazz's words and tingled in anticipation. She wondered what it would be like to sleep with a girl who wasn't Britt. And then she felt guilty for thinking about Britt. She pushed it away.

**Santana:**

_Is now close enough to tonight for me to see you?_

That felt a bit more desperate than she was used to being. Whatever. This was just one night in a city she wouldn't be in again for a long time. As long as she got her freak on, who cared with Jazz thought of her?

_I do. _She thought, but she pushed that away. Feelings made it worse. She knew that already.

**Jazz:**

_Now? _

**Jazz:**

_Of course. It's a bit early to start going out though. Which of the sights have you seen so far? I'll be your tourguide. _

She typed as she walked, wanting to get off the block their hotel was on- just in case someone looked out a window or Mr. Schue decided to show up.

**Santana:**

_I've got Times Square and Central Park under my belt- that's it. _

**Jazz:**

_I bet you've got more under your belt than that._

**Santana:**

_Damn, you're a flirt._

**Jazz:**

_Only when the girl is worth it._

Jazz was like the butch version of herself. It was refreshing. She practically knew what she would say before she said it- because Santana would say the exact same thing.

**Jazz:**

_So, what do you say? Want to go ice skating in Rockefeller? _

**Santana:**

_Well, there's a first time for everything._

**Jazz:**

_You've never been ice skating? That settles it. I'm out the door. See you there?_

For some reason, the fact that Jazz was taking her lack of ice skating so personally made Santana feel special. The smile that had been playing on her lips through the entire conversation widened.

**Santana:**

_Sounds perfect._

Oh. Wait.

**Santana:**

_But, um… How do I get there?_

She could practically hear Jazz's laugh from here, loud and full. Jazz poked fun at her as she sent directions, but Santana didn't care. She walked with a spring in her step, and in less than ten minutes she was there.

Santana scanned the plaza, and Jazz was nowhere to be seen. But no worries, she probably wasn't as close as New Directions' hotel was. So Santana leaned against a short wall, letting the sun kiss her skin. Her eyes slid shut, the light making colorful patterns on her eyelids.

Everything just smelled different there. Everything smelled different. So many _people_, packed in so close, breathing the air together, one voice with the cab's horns, with the voices of the city. She felt like she was inside of one big, thriving something. She could feel the people around her, could feel that something, that person that was the city, so near her body she could swear it was real.

Hands touched her hips and she opened her eyes with a shock, jumping half out of her skin. Opening her mouth to curse at Jazz, it was caught in a deep, lingering kiss.

Oh.

_Oh._

Jazz's lips were softer than any boy's she'd ever felt. But they were direct, and purposeful, and Santana found herself melting under the girl, molding into her body, letting her head be tipped back, Jazz's fingertips pressing into the back of her neck and her hip the only things keeping her standing up as their tongues slipped together.

And then Jazz stepped back, and her eyes were dark. They were saying things, those eyes.

Woah. Santana breathed, wondering when she stopped doing that. She looked at Jazz, the smile on her face and the chill air starting to clear her head.

And then she noticed. Nobody, not a single person in the _entire _plaza, was staring at them. She had never so much as _linked pinkies _with Brittany without everyone in their vicinity noticing, judging.

"I _love _this city." She said, and there it was- Jazz's laugh, rumbling into Santana's abdomen.

"Come on." Jazz simply said, and grabbed Santana's hand, pulling her down towards the entrance to the ice rink.

"Oh, I will." Santana murmured.

She rather enjoyed the look of amazement that Jazz shot at her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Most of the time when you hear about people ice skating for the first time late in life, either they're amazing naturals or they're absolutely horrible," Santana said, as she made her way around the rink for the tenth time in half an hour. "But do you ever hear about them just- kinda being okay? No, you don't." She answered before Jazz could answer. Jazz, who was skating backwards in front of her, smiling bemusedly at her slow progress.

"You've only fallen twice." Jazz pointed out helpfully.

"I'm a Cherrio. I'm athletic and flexible and I don't get tired. Why the hell is this so hard?"

"A cheerio?"

Of course. Everyone in Lima knew what being a Cheerio meant. Everyone in the damn town was obsessed with their loser football team, and all associated with it. But here in the big apple…

"A cheerleader," Santana informed Jazz, unable to keep a bit of pride out of her voice. If she hadn't been trying to make a good impression, she'd be in full-tilt 'better than thou' attitude. "We won Nationals six years in a row."

"Damn," Jazz raised an eyebrow, skating forwards, getting as close to Santana as possible without knocking her over. She leaned over, her lips grazing Santana's earlobe, her breath so hot in contrast to the ice. "So you're bendy, huh? Good to know." And she skated away, leaving Santana to wobble on suddenly useless legs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jazz insisted that no cheesy New York date was complete without seeing the Empire State Building, Santana insisted that she'd only go if they took a cab.

When Jazz pointed out that it would only take ten minutes on the F line and would be cheaper, Santana pointed out that it was a little awkward, making out on the subway.

"Oh like it wouldn't be awkward making out in a taxi."

"Oh like you've never done it." Santana sniped back, smiling and drawing patterns on Jazz's hand so she'd know she wasn't annoyed, sitting on a bench in the dying sunlight.

"Well, yeah," Jazz admitted. "everyone has."

"Maybe I want to be everyone too." Santana pouted.

"You're enough just by yourself, sweetheart." Jazz said, laughing at the look on Santana's face and standing up to grab a taxi.

She could get used to being called 'sweetheart'.

And getting her way.

"You know, I think I like you." Santana informed the girl as she slid into the cab, the driver smiling at them as he asked where they were heading.

"Empire state building." Jazz informed him, her hand resting on Santana's leg without a thought.

"On vacation?" The driver asked, with an accent Santana couldn't quite figure out.

"She is," She answered, gesturing at Jazz before she could say anything. "And she just _insists _on being shown around. I've never actually bothered to go, of course," She assured him, and she really does fit the part of New Yorker, if she does say so herself. "But you know how it is." and she grinned innocently at Jazz, who didn't even bother to respond.

Instead, Jazz leaned in, and Santana leaned closer, and their lips met. This kiss was instantly intense. They touched, and Santana was being taken. She moaned a little into Jazz's mouth. They slid until they were almost horizontal across the seats, every inch between their bodies feeling too far. But Jazz kept herself suspended above Santana, and she pulled back from that first kiss, smiled mischievously at her, and leaned down to kiss her again.

"You do anything more than this, I'm changing you extra," The cab driver called into the back, and Santana laughed a little wildly. "You've got three minutes until we get there." he added.

"We'd better make the most of it." Santana whispered, and she kissed Jazz.

A small part of her brain marveled at where she was right now- making out with a hot girl in a cab was not something she'd planned on when she left- and she smiled against Jazz's lips.

The best thing about this was that she could feel Jazz's body. The girl was using her hands to keep her propped up, one hand on the seat beside Santana, one above her head on the door. But she didn't have to do that. _Her _hands were free to wander, and they did. Jazz's body was so warm, her arms strong and firm, her waist soft and smooth. She gripped into the other girl's back, could feel it moving under her fingers.

She realized that her body was pushing upwards, wanting to bridge the gap between them, wanting to be closer. Her fingers were reaching again, and a hand moved to Jazz's chest, because Santana just wanted to _feel her_, and then-

Yes, she was moaning again. Because the feeling of Jazz's breast, her nipple hard beneath Santana's hand? Her brain was screaming _I'm a lesbian I'm a lesbian I'm a lesbian _in conformation of all the things she'd been wondering for what felt like so long. She couldn't breathe.

"Alright, we're here." the driver called back. Jazz pulled back to her own seat, and Santana got out of the taxi, trying to act like nothing major had just happened. That she hadn't just had her entire identity confirmed, like her world wasn't spinning and her lungs had stopped working.

"Thank you." Jazz said to the taxi driver, leaning through the passenger window to pay him.

"I saw your girlfriend cop a feel. That's an extra five." was his only reply.

"Sorry." Santana muttered when Jazz had paid the man and turned toward her.

"It's worth it." was all Jazz said, and Santana was mesmerized at how her lips were a little bit swollen, a little bit pinker than they had been minutes ago.

Jazz grabbed her hand, and pulled her towards the building.

Oh. Of course there was a line.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time they got through the line and got to the top of the building, the sky was almost dark. The horizon was blood-red, orange, pink. The rest of the sky was beginning to show stars.

"Damn." Was all Santana could say, walking closer to the full glass window in front of her.

"Yeah." Jazz said. Her face was lit by the dying sun, kind of glowing.

"Your city is-" Santana searched for the right word. _Beautiful _never seemed to capture what she meant. "-_hermosa." _

The surprised look on Jazz's face shouldn't have been attractive, but it was. "You speak Spanish?" She asked.

"_Si. Estoy, _SantanaRivera_ puedo harblr español." _Her voice accentuated her name so heavily the people walking below them on the street could probably hear her sarcasm.

"Well, I didn't know. I didn't assume anything about you." Jazz defended herself. And huh. Her eyes were dark, like they were after they'd first kissed. Santana could practically hear her body buzzing next to her.

"_Te gusta?"_

"What?" Jazz asked, bemused.

"You like it?" Santana repeated.

"_Muy bien_" Jazz answered, her accent the most atrocious thing Santana had every heard. And then she added a growling sound, rolling her r's in a way that was clearly supposed to be sexy.

Santana laughed so loudly that people stared.

"What? I'm not alluring?"

"You're adorable." Santana offered.

"I guess I can settle for that." Jazz said quietly, and as they turned to face the city again, she draped an arm across Santana's shoulders.

Night had fallen. They watched the glittering city.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The music was loud and the lights were bright and they were dancing so close, so dirty, that if Jazz had a dick they'd pretty much be doing it on the dancefloor. They were a little buzzed, but Santana felt intoxicated- by the city, by the club, by the girl enveloping her whole awareness. Her skin was on fire. Her eyes were closed. Her skirt was riding up and her feet were sore but she hardly noticed. Because Jazz was _everywhere. _

"I want to go back to your place." She murmured into Jazz's ear. She thought the girl nodded, but she wasn't quite sure. She was a bit distracted by the hands slipping down past her back, the teeth gently scraping at her neck.

"Let's go then." Jazz said, taking Santana's hand and making her way off the dancefloor as the next song started. So apparently she had heard.

Santana was sweaty. They got her yellow half jacket from coatcheck, but as they stepped outside, it stayed folded over her arm. She pulled her hair over one shoulder, away from her neck. The music in the club pounded behind them, people walked past them. _What time was it? _This city that never slept was seeming more and more perfect for her as time went on.

Jazz hailed the cab.

"Where to, ladies?" The driver asked. Jazz gave some address, in "the village". Santana smiled.

"Thank you," she said to Jazz, as their driver took off into traffic. "I've had such an amazing time tonight."

"It's not over yet." Jazz replied, and Santana wanted her to talk forever. Her voice was so smooth and suggestive and it felt so good in her ears.

"I know." She replied.

They sat in silence for a little while.

"You're welcome." Jazz said simply. She ran her thumb over Santana's hand. Santana reminded herself to breathe.

They got to Jazz's apartment.

The building was brick, taller than those around it but shorter than the buildings Santana had been surrounded by so far. This street was different than the others. She still knew she was in the city, could feel the energy bouncing off the walls and flying through the air. But it was just slightly calmer- chiller. Slightly relaxed. She couldn't see much around her in the semi-darkness, but it was less intimidating here. She liked it.

"You'll have to excuse the tiny-ness of my apartment," Jazz said as she unlocked the door. She opened the door wide, letting Santana walk through first. "It's New York," she defended. "You take what you can get."

But if she hadn't pointed it out, Santana probably wouldn't have noticed the size. It was small, yes. An open kitchen, dining room, and living room shared the main room, a small table, a small couch, and a laptop hooked up to speakers packed in together, a bike leaning against the wall. There was one door.

"Bedroom?" She asked, and then flushed a little. That wasn't exactly what she meant to say.

"So impatient," Jazz laughed. "Do you want anything to drink?" She asked, walking into the kitchen area and getting herself a glass of water.

It was in that moment that Santana was struck with just exactly what was going on. Yeah, she slept with people. She was well aware of how to take care of herself, how to get what she wanted, how to leave.

But it wasn't like there was much of a bar scene in Lima, Ohio. She didn't hook up with people unless they walked the halls of McKinley together. She didn't sleep with people who had their own apartments. They waited for the parents to go out for dinner, they parked the car and moved to the back seat. This… this was actually new for her. And now she was nervous.

"Water sounds great." was all she said. She watched Jazz get a glass, her shirt pulled up, her stomach stretched taught. She leaned against a counter, took the cup, and tried to calm herself.

"So why are you in New York?" Jazz asked, taking a drink of water.

"Why not?" Santana asked, deciding to take the mysterious route. The route where she didn't reveal that she was still in high school.

Luckily, Jazz didn't press it. She smiled and put down her glass, walking closer and closer to Santana.

"I'm glad you're here." She said. Her voice was so low, so quiet. Santana shivered a little.

"Yeah, me…" Santana started, but then they mouths were so close, and she decided that kissing her was a much better use for her mouth than talking.

God, she loved kissing Jazz. She just kept getting closer, even when there wasn't any more room and the counter was cutting into Santana's back. All she knew was that she wanted more, she wanted these clothes to be _off- _and she tugged at Jazz's shirt, and Jazz let her take it off, let her explore the skin exposed. And her dress was around her waist and they were kissing so intensely and-

"Bedroom." Santana said, for the second time that night. And-

"Bedroom." Jazz agreed.

The door shut decidedly behind them.


End file.
